


May The Broken Be Mended

by SerStolas



Series: Rogue One Anniverary Week [1]
Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Hope, M/M, Pre-Rogue One, Rebellion, Rogue One Anniversary Week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-10
Updated: 2017-12-10
Packaged: 2019-02-13 02:31:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12973803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SerStolas/pseuds/SerStolas
Summary: Pre-Rogue One, Baze Malbus has returned home to Jedha after completing another job.  The spirit of Jedha, and of Baze himself, has been eroded by the Empire over the years.  But as Baze discovers, sometimes it is the small rebellions that restore one's spirit.Rogue One Anniversary Week, Day One: Favorite Character || Writing Prompt: Rebellion





	May The Broken Be Mended

**Author's Note:**

> Star Wars belongs to Disney/LucasArts

6 BBY

 

The familiar white forms of Storm Troopers moved through the Jedha City market, pushing aside any who got in their way. It was a sight seen too often these days as the Imperials harvested the last remaining kyber crystals from the planet. The spirits in the city were drained, much as the Imperials drained Jedha of her natural resource. Plasteel and cruel, the Imperials saw worlds and people as things to either exploit or bring under their control. 

Baze had to wonder how long it would be before the Empire broke Jedha of her spirit entirely, or if that spirit was already broken. It had been a long time since Baze had cared for more beyond daily survival and ensuring that his partner, Chirrut, stayed alive.

The first fracture in his spirit had come when the Temple of Whills had been destroyed. And each year since, traveling the galaxy first as a mercenary, then finally coming home and finding the man he'd once called beloved begging on the streets, eroded his spirit further each day.

Saw Gerrera and his insurgents fought back against the Empire, but Baze often found himself questioning the extremes to which the Partisans would got to. There were rumors of them questioning the loyalty of some, and how much they cared or did not care for collateral damage. 

Baze shook his head, his long shaggy mane of curls shaking as he did. He carefully began threading his way through the crowd back towards the small quarters he and Chirrut currently called home. He'd gotten enough credits from his last job to buy them food for the next week or two, though if he knew Chirrut, the man would stint himself to feed some of that food to the orphans who sometimes sneaked into their home to listen to the tales Chirrut would be-part to them in hushed whispers. 

He was almost there when he heard a soft whimpering, and the sound of an open hand hitting flesh. He shouldn't get involved, he should keep walking and go home to Chirrut, but some rebellious part of his spirit was tired of just laying low as the Imperials oppressed his people, he was tired of seeing his planet so drained.

So Chirrut ended up standing at the entrance of an alleyway, and saw a small form, probably a child, huddled against a crumbling wall as a bulky man in Imperial olive stood over the child, a sneer written on his face. 

“You thought to nick my lunch, did you, you piece of filth,” the Imperial hissed, kicking at the small form with a black boot. The child rolled out of the way and missed the first kick, but did not miss the second.

As the small form's face became visible, Baze could see it was a child, perhaps no more than 10 or 11, dark eyes wide and dark circles like bruises beneath those fragile eyes. The child's hair was matted and dirty, so Baze could not tell if it was truly brown or not, and the child's clothing were rags. It was a story that played out far too often on the streets of Jedha.

Baze heaved a sigh, and then crossed the distance, catching the portly Imperial's hand before he could land another blow on the child and pinning his arm behind his back.

“What?! What is the meaning of this?” The Imperial demanded. “You, I shall see you shot, I shall see your body hung on the walls of the city as a warning to those who dare oppose the Empire!”

Baze recognized the man then. A petty small time officer in charge of collecting 'taxes' from the people of Jedha. A man who took the last credits a family had regularly, who had take people's homes and entire possessions and left children starving in the streets.

A man who had broken the spirits of so many.

Baze did not bother giving the man an answer. He merely shifted his hands, and with a soft crack, broke the man's neck.

The olive clad form crumbled to the ground.

The small girl turned her face towards Baze's. There was no fear in those eyes, no shock at his actions.

This girl had seen more horrors in her short years under Imperial occupation than anyone should witness in their entire lifetime.

There was a dead body on the ground, and eventually someone would come looking for the man. He quietly shoved the body into the nearby pile of refuse, then Baze held out one large gloved hand and the child took it. He picked her up and tucked her against his armored chest, then moved with a quickness that belied his size, and moved down another alleyway.

It was one small, cruel rebellion against the Empire, to remove a man who had broken the spirits of so many. If Baze had been another man, perhaps he might have found another way. But it had been the most efficient way. 

He carried the girl through alleyways, often switching direction until he was certain that no one had followed them.

“Where are your parents or guardians?” he rumbled softly to the girl.

She looked up from his armored shoulder and gave a small shrug. “Dead in the mines.”

He felt a burn of anger in his chest. 

“Then you shall come home with me,” he found himself saying.

Chirrut would be willing to take her in if no one else. Chirrut, whose heart had always been bigger than the both of them. 

Later that night, when the small girl lay on a pallet in their home, Chirrut and Baze sat on their bed, Baze's arm wrapped firmly around his husband's waist, and Chirrut chuckled softly as he leaned into Baze.

“And you said you had no rebellion left in you.”

“Well, perhaps there are small things we can do, small ways to rebel,” Baze rumbled.

And perhaps, that day, Baze's fractured spirit began to mend.


End file.
